Previous Lives
by fionacha
Summary: Post Portal 2. After months of living in a small town miles from Aperture, Chell feels bored and isolated. She learns of a young man named Wheatley who worked for Aperture long ago, and returns to the abandoned lab in order to learn his fate and gain closure over her betrayal. Slight Chell/Wheatley.
1. Your New Life Begins Today!

The young woman sat on the park bench with hands clasped on her lap, her posture straight and stiff. She observed the vivid life of the world around her with a cold scientific gaze. She saw children playing in the hot midday sun, shrieking and laughing as they chased each other around the gently rustling trees. She listened to the chirps of birds as they swooped in a graceful dance, diving and climbing, twirling around each other as one. She heard the soft conversations of the townspeople around her, bubbling and swelling until individual voices seemed to merge, as if the entire town was speaking at once, surrounding her with cheerful sounds of life. Chell sat at the centre of it all, like a rock in the middle of a vibrant lake, cold and still and silent.

Suddenly, her head twitched up as she caught sight of something beyond the trees. Oh no. It was that man again, the one with the irritating laugh and the strange odour. Chell grunted in exasperation as the man smiled in her direction and began to make his way towards her. What would it be _this time_? Another request to spend more time together outside of their work on the farm? He'd tried that one a few times now. She was perfectly satisfied with the amount of time they already shared: the two minutes it took her to carry the harvested wheat into the barn, hand it to the guy and stalk off again, scythe in hand.

As Barn-Man drew ever closer Chell decided to make a swift exit and sprang from the bench like a cat. She drew her grey hoodie tightly around her and marched off heading for the centre of town.

"Chell! Chell! Wait, come back! I-I just wanted to ask…"

That name was all that he knew of her. She intended to keep it that way.

Chell's colleague was not the only frustrating thing she had encountered while living here. It seemed to be that every person she met in the town of Maple Hill confused or irritated her in some way. Why did some people smile at her and not others? They had been so inquisitive and welcoming to her when she first arrived here six months ago, but now Barn-Man was the only person who attempted any sort of communication with her. What bothered her most of all was the nagging thought that she was _supposed_ to feel at home here, surrounded by a community of humans after a lifetime spent in the cold company of robots. But she just _didn't_, she only felt irritated and isolated.

Chell sentimentally thought back to the life she was familiar with: a life of Testing. Of leaping and falling and flying through space; defying the logic of physics in an endless series of deadly puzzles. She thought of Aperture Science: the lab that was both her prison and her home. The lab that had gained a life of its own, and a corrupted intelligence to single-mindedly test her; to push her until she broke. But she never did. She alone out of all the test subjects had overcome the deadly trials, survived countless attempts to eliminate her after outliving her usefulness and had forced the very facility itself to admit defeat to her. The AI mistress of Aperture Science – GLaDOS – had finally accepted her as a threat, an equal adversary, and granted Chell the freedom that she had been fighting for.

And this was where that freedom had brought her. Maple Hill. Gentle, quiet, safe Maple Hill. Life here was tedious and she was _bored_. Recently Chell found herself reminiscing of Aperture more often, but however proud she was of her triumphs she knew that her memories of the laboratory were not really fond ones. She still had her scars: the bullet wounds she'd received from turrets; a broken wrist that had never completely healed; burns from various sources.

And there was one experience of Aperture that she would never be able to see through rose-tinted glasses. One person she could never stop having nightmares about. Wheatley. The betrayal of Chell by her robotic companion had hurt her more than any injury sustained during testing. He had told her that he needed her help in order for them to escape together. And she'd trusted him. She'd never trusted anyone before. He'd guided her through the dark corridors and cavernous passages of the facility. He'd protected her from GLaDOS, kept her safe, kept her spirits up. She had begun to enjoy his cheery company and found herself missing him when they were separated. She'd almost broken her self-imposed vow of silence, just so that she could speak to him and share with him her thoughts and experiences. Then he turned on her. He tricked her into helping him take over the facility and seize absolute power from GLaDOS. Then he forced her to Test for him. His taunts and jeers had cut her far more deeply than the passive-aggressive comments of GLaDOS ever had. She could still hear his voice in her dreams: that deceptively human, cheerfully friendly voice. She heard his voice taunting her, laughing at her, angrily commanding her. Telling her to give up. Telling her to kill herself. But she hadn't given up; she had risen to the challenge, defeated him and excised him like a tumour from the body of Aperture Science before casting him out into Space where he could never hurt her again.

As her mind swarmed with painful memories, Chell scolded herself for the warm thoughts she'd had earlier towards the laboratory. How could she _ever_ think fondly of that place? She didn't belong there - she had narrowly escaped death in that hellish lab and finally won her freedom! She couldn't admit defeat to her fears of life outside Aperture - she needed to understand this new world and learn to live in it! Unfortunately, she was aware of how challenging this task would be, and that it was not something she could achieve on her own. As much as she hated the idea of relying on another person she accepted that she needed someone to teach her, and there was only one place she knew in Maple Hill where she could find such a guide. As she turned onto the main street she caught sight of it – the town's community college. Chell approached and stood at the foot of the steps leading to the tiny college, staring up at the sign above the entrance. The lettering was old and faded but she could just make out: "Maple Hill Community College – Your New Life Begins _Today_!" Hesitatingly she climbed the steps and creaked open the shabby front door.

***

"A potential student here to see you, Mr Deblovski".

"Ah, excellent! Thank you, Maria," came the gravelly response from within the office. As Chell was ushered through the door she saw that the voice belonged to an ancient man hunched over a large wooden desk. With a smile, he beckoned across the office to Chell.

"Yes, come in, come in! Go ahead, take a seat."

As Chell walked forward uncertainly she heard Maria close the door behind her and the woman's heels distantly clacking back to resume her position at the front desk. Mr Deblovski hoisted himself out of his leather chair and raised an expectant hand to Chell. She stared blankly, brow furrowed, before tentatively reaching over to grip the old man's wrinkled hand. He paid no attention to her uncertainty and smiled encouragingly.

"Now then, what can I do for you today?"

He hobbled over to the cupboards lining the walls of the cramped office and opened one to reveal a well-stocked drinks cabinet. "Can I get you a little something?" he grinned mischievously. Chell responded with a jerky shake of the head, her eyes still tracing the walls of the room.

"No? Well, if you don't mind I think I'll help myself to a cheeky wee whisky while we chat". He poured himself a glass from an almost-empty bottle and took a slow, savouring sip.

"Mmm, lovely. Sure I can't get you anything, my dear?" he asked; hand poised on the cabinet door, eyebrows raised with hopeful expectation. Chell shook her head a second time and cast her hard gaze across the man's grand desk. A small brass plaque politely introduced the desk's owner: _Eugene C. Deblovski - Academic Dean._

"Now, what brings you to my office today?" he asked for a second time as he settled himself back down into his faded leather chair, ice chinking in his drink.

Chell pulled a dog-eared notebook from the back pocket of her jeans and, taking a fresh page, began to write her request. Finished, she slid the notebook across the desk to the man opposite her and stiffly sat back in her chair, hands clenching at her knees. Dean Deblovski's eyebrows rose as he read the note.

"You want to learn… everything?"

Chell jerked her head in confirmation. The Dean gave a deep, raspy chuckle.

"Well, we sure don't have anything like that on our list of courses! What would that be called anyway, Life 101?"

He chuckled again at his own joke before trailing off, deep in thought.

"Hmm… Perhaps there is something I can do for you, my dear. As it happens, I don't run this place for any kind of financial motive. No, no, I run it as a sort of hobby – a service to the town, if you like. Everyone has a hobby, yes? Some people enjoy collecting things, or -I don't know- growing things. Myself, I like teaching farmers about philosophy. Or housewives about history. Anything that they want to know, anything that will fill up their minds with knowledge and feed their hungry curiosity, that's what gets me out of bed in the morning! So I will do my very best to teach you about life, my dear, as best as one person ever could anyway. A little philosophy here, a little history there, biology, psychology, social studies… It'll be like a greatest hits of all the courses I offer!"

He chuckled again. Chell stared blankly.

"Yes, well, anyway." He coughed, "I always pride myself on the quality of the education I offer over the number of students I have. I've been running this little school for over fifty years now and the names of every student I've ever had fit onto that one board over there."

He gestured beside him to a large, carefully-polished wooden plaque hanging in the centre of the wall above the drinks cabinet. The plaque was covered in rows of names and dates engraved in a neat, ornate lettering. Chell could see that just one student was listed for this year, 2027, as well as for the previous year and the year before that. In fact, on closer inspection the school rarely had more than two students in the same year. The names of the alumni were listed as far back as the 1970s – something caught her eye. A name. Wheatley. Enrolled 1972. Stephen Wheatley. Chell struggled to control the panic that shot through her. It was a coincidence. It had to be. It might be a common name, for all she knew! It couldn't be any connection to the Wheatley she knew, could it? The Wheatley she knew was a robot: a small, metal, lying, treacherous robot. He'd been manufactured deep inside the laboratories of Aperture, hadn't he? Why would the name of an evil little robot be written on the wall of a 1970s community college? Taking a deep breath she attempted to calm the battle between her horror and her desperate desire to know more. She steadied her hand and carefully worded a question to the Dean that barely scratched the surface of her curiosity.

_The name Wheatley seems familiar to me. Does he live in Maple Hill or does he have family from around here?_

As he read her question a slow smile broke out on Dean Deblovski's wrinkled face, his eyes shining with remembrance.

"Ah, Wheatley… Now there's a name I have not heard in a long, long time. I'm surprised you know the name, actually, I don't know where you would have heard it from as there's no-one in Maple Hill with that name now. The young man I knew by that name hasn't lived in Maple Hill for, oh, must be fifty years now. And as for any family, well, he wasn't originally from the area, wasn't from Michigan at all actually. He was English, came over here as a young man."

Seeing Chell's look of confusion, the Dean added, "Ah, well, England is… it's a country on the other side of the ocean from the United States. It's a long way away; I think I've got a map around here somewhere…"

He rummaged around in a drawer as Chell quietly boiled with impatience.

"No? Must have taken it out. I would need to show you on a map. That can be your first geography lesson!"

He gave a throaty laugh.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Wheatley was just out of high school when I met him. This was back in 1972 and I wasn't long out of college myself. I thought I knew everything about the world but I had no idea at all what I wanted to do with my life. Wheatley was quite the opposite; he had this grand ambition to work for a laboratory that used to be in the area. Aperture Science, I think it was called."

Chell tried to hide the grimace that flashed across her face. So there was a connection.

"He didn't have any kind of qualifications and they wouldn't let just anyone in. And so he came to me: the one person in the town closest to Aperture Science who had been to college. He asked me to teach him all about "Science and things", just so that he could work for Aperture. I don't know why, but I just wanted to help him out however I could. There was something about the passion in his voice when he talked about his ambitions, about how he was going to build all these wonderful inventions and help people and save the world. The way he used to talk, it made me feel like - like even though I didn't have any ambitions myself I could at least help someone else with achieving theirs."

The fondness of the memory was plain to see on the Dean's face. Even Chell could not mistake the glow across his features that gave him the appearance of a much younger man.

"I said that I would teach him what I knew and help him to get a job at Aperture. Now, I didn't know the first thing about Science back then so I couldn't help him there, but I had just graduated in accountancy so I said that I could teach him how to be an accountant. Every company needs accountants, I told him! He was the reason I set up this little college here: I did everything by the book and got registered as a real college so that the qualifications I got him here would mean something to the folks at Aperture. He was my student for two years and he graduated in… hmm, that's right, 1974."

He chuckled again to himself.

"I still remember how jittery he was the day he went for the job interview at Aperture, remember it like it was just last week. And how happy he was when he got the job too, like a little kid at Christmas, all excited and sick with nerves. What was the job title again? Something like… Junior Assistant… Supporting Accountant, one of those lowest rung on the ladder sort of jobs. But it was at Aperture and that was all he wanted, his dream was fulfilled just like that."

The light began to dwindle from the Dean's eyes as his smile faded.

"I didn't see much of Wheatley after that. He would call sometimes, and there was the occasional weekend that he'd make the two hour drive and come visit. He'd tell me all about Aperture and his work and colleagues, he sounded happy there and I enjoyed catching up with him. But after about a year or so his visits slowly became less frequent and eventually he stopped calling. And that was that, I haven't seen him since. I don't know what happened to him, whether he couldn't keep in touch or just didn't want to. But I would like very much to know what happened to him, he meant a lot to me."

Dean Deblovski suddenly seemed to remember Chell sitting across from him. He jumped with surprise and shook off his nostalgia.

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear! I've been talking away and got a little lost down memory lane there. You'll forgive an old man, won't you? Now then, what were we talking about? Ah yes, your lessons…"

***

Weeks passed. Chell spent the majority of her free time in one of the college's tiny classrooms absorbed in Dean Deblovski's lessons. He taught her the basics of science and geography, of history and culture. On warm days they would sit together on the grass outside and he would point out the subtleties of the town's society that had escaped Chell's notice. He attempted to explain the interactions of its residents, interpreting body language, hand gestures, eye contact: all of the mannerisms that had baffled Chell for months. Each day new facts and concepts began to populate her knowledge, and her mind was slowly opened to a world unimaginably larger and more intricate than either Maple Hill or Aperture. She gradually began to relax and found herself enjoying the Dean's company as he lectured fervently about a topic he felt would interest her. Occasionally, he would try to satisfy his own curiosity for Chell and attempt to prise open the wall she had built around herself and her secrets. His questions varied from simply asking what her favourite colour was, to more probing queries about herself: where she had come from, her childhood, any friends who might be out there looking for her. All of his enquiries were met by the same response from Chell: her eyes would immediately drop to the floor and her body physically recoiled, as if the question had been an arrow piercing through her. The Dean quickly learned to avoid direct interrogation; he hoped instead that she would slowly open up to him over time.

While these lessons satisfied Chell's immediate thirst for knowledge the topic of Wheatley posed a far more intriguing and intimate subject to her. From the moment the dust had settled after defeating Wheatley and leaving Aperture Chell had craved a better understanding of her betrayer. Had he ever thought of her as a friend? Had he ever really cared about her at all? Or had he planned to betray her right from the start? Now that she had stumbled across a possible link to Wheatley's past, she wondered if she finally had the opportunity to get answers for the questions she had and discover the truth about him. This tantalising possibility occupied her thoughts to the point that she could barely concentrate on her lessons with the Dean, wondering and worrying to the point of obsession.

Over time her chaotic ideas and speculations sorted themselves into two theories. The first was that the man called Wheatley had somehow been involved in the creation of _her_ Wheatley – she hated that she kept using that term! – and the core had been named in his honour. This would mean that _her_ Wheatley – _robot_ Wheatley – was entirely artificial and had simply been obeying its programming when it turned on her. This was somehow easier to stomach: there had been no decision-making process against her and no malevolent intent towards her personally. Chell tried to reassure herself that if this theory was correct there was no reason to continue bearing a grudge. With enough time she could put it all behind her and begin to trust again.

However, this optimism was put in doubt by her second theory: that the robot's seemingly-artificial intelligence had in fact been extracted from the human of the same name, similar to the method by which GLaDOS was created. The idea of this deeply unsettled Chell as it implied that Wheatley had not been programmed to be inherently evil, but instead had a human consciousness and had deliberately chosen to exploit her. He must have plotted how to gain her trust, and how he could best manipulate her… anger surged through her just thinking about it. How could she trust anyone again when the only person she'd ever relied on had done this to her?

As her obsessions weighed ever more heavily on her mind Chell realised she could no longer keep them to herself; she wanted badly to discuss her speculations with the Dean. She found her moment at the end of a particularly fiery lecture that Chell had struggled to pay attention to. At the stage where she would usually thank the Dean with a small nod, she instead caught his attention with jerked wave of her hand. Seeing the worry etched across her face, the Dean turned from cleaning the board and sat opposite Chell.

"My dear, what's wrong?" he asked with a look of concern, "It's alright, tell me what's on your mind. I'll make us some tea."

As the kettle boiled in the staff room next door, Chell found a fresh page on her notebook and began to unburden her pent up anxieties. With a tremor in her hand, she began to describe her life before she arrived in Maple Hill. She wrote of Aperture and GLaDOS and testing; of turrets and burns and scars that would not heal. She wrote about the robot that had befriended and betrayed her, before revealing his familiar name. She then summarised her theories about Wheatley's fate, explaining to the Dean that the student who still meant so much to him may be the robot that haunts her nightmares. She passed her note, spread across two full pages, to the Dean and released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She felt different, as if a tight band had been removed from around her chest. Chell unclenched her muscles and began to relax into her armchair. The kettle finished boiling, left forgotten about as the Dean read Chell's story with dismay etched across his face.

"I-I'm so sorry. The things that have happened to you in your life… Frankly, I'm amazed you've kept it together as well as you have, I think a lot of people would have been broken by what you've experienced. And our lessons together, they- they're a way of moving on, aren't they? Quite right too, that's something I can absolutely help you with! Not just the lessons, my dear, although I do enjoy those immensely. If there's ever anything you need, or even just someone to talk to, well, I'm here for you for anything at all."

Chell smiled, a brief flicker of happiness at the Dean's kind words.

"Although…" he continued, "I really hope that you're wrong about Wheatley, my dear. He was one of the kindest people I've ever met and I can't imagine him ever hurting anyone. In fact, I remember that he couldn't even kill spiders when they came into the house, he would always try to sweep them out the door. I think he said he would feel guilty for the spider's family and friends, and thought they might come after him for revenge. Now, I'm aware that the robot who tricked you was named Wheatley, but it can't possibly be anything to do with the man I knew, I assure you of that!"

Chell frowned and reached across the desk to retrieve her notebook before writing a new message.

_I'm not so sure, I need to find out for certain. I'm going to go back to Aperture Science and learn what happened to the man you knew after he joined Aperture. I need to know if he turned into the robot who hurt me, or if that robot was just following its programming. I don't think I can't trust anyone again until I know. I think the word is closure? I need closure. _

The Dean's eyes widened as he read her abrupt statement of intent.

"But-but you can't go back to Aperture, it's far too dangerous! You just finished telling me that there was an evil AI watching over the whole building: she'll find you and she'll kill you! Or-or worse, she'll trap you there and make you into one of her experiments again, you can't go back there!"

Unfazed, Chell wrote her reply to the Dean's concern.

_I'll find another way in. I'll go directly to the old laboratory underground. There has to be a passage somewhere, limos and trucks used to drive in. GLaDOS has no authority in the old laboratory, she wouldn't be able to see me there. It will be safe._

The worry did not leave the Dean's face but he was eased a little by Chell's determination.

"Well, if you're sure… I'm not happy about this at all but if you genuinely feel that this something you need to do in order to move on then, well, I'll support you. I suppose if anyone could make it into that place and back out in one piece it would be you, my dear. And besides… I could perhaps benefit from a bit of closure myself when it comes to Wheatley. If you can find out what happened to him after all these years… well, it would really put my mind to rest. So go and do what you need to do, I'll be here waiting for your return."

Chell added to her message:

_Actually, there are some things that I need your assistance with._


	2. Aperture Science Welcomes You

**Thank you to 19James92, Vi-Violence and EggplantWitch for your wonderful reviews of Chapter 1! You've made a newbie writer very happy indeed :)**

The sky over the miles of swaying wheat was overcast with grey clouds, smothering the afternoon sun in a cold, damp blanket. Chell picked her way along the rock-strewn road, a heavy canvas rucksack weighing down her back that clinked with each footstep. She stepped around potholes and over loose stones and gravel, careful of her footing in her Long Fall boots. The soft metallic ting produced by each step in the boots took her mind back to Aperture: she had not worn the life-saving testing equipment since her departure from the lab. By forcing her feet into a feline tiptoe poise the boots not only protected her from injury after a long drop, but also had a newly-discovered bonus of safeguarding her feet from blisters and aching muscles. She had been hiking along this track for hours and yet Chell felt as if she had the stamina to walk all day.

She held in one hand a map that had been copied meticulously by the Dean from an old atlas of the area. Holding the map carefully to stop its frantic fluttering in the breeze she glanced at it occasionally to confirm the correct path to the laboratory. Although the atlas had not shown the location of Aperture Science itself, it had charted a suspiciously major road leading directly into the middle of the wheat field. This road did not appear on a more modern local map and was speculated by the Dean to be a derelict service road that had once been used to transport supplies into the underground laboratory. Together with Chell's own approximation of the distance to Aperture from her initial journey across the wheat field, this road was their strongest clue as to the location of the laboratory.

As the dull late afternoon faded into early evening Chell spotted a large sign perched at the side of the road. It declared in huge red and black lettering:

_Biohazard Warning – You are approaching a CONDEMNED LABORATORY. Extreme danger of DEATH or serious INJURY / SICKNESS resulting from one or more of the following hazards:_

_Asbestos, radioactive isotopes, chemical waste, live explosives, military grade firearms, unidentified hazardous compounds, unidentified hazardous animals, drowning._

_Do not approach. Do not enter. Do not ignore this warning._

There's no place like home, commented a grim voice in Chell's head. She continued her trek to Aperture Science with renewed vigour.

A few hours further along the derelict route the wheat became scarce and was replaced by tall pine trees. The rough earthen track that Chell had been following turned to ruined tarmac and the road widened into two lanes, then later four. The abandoned highway led into a vast clearing in the trees which encircled a wide dark chasm. On closer inspection, the immense crater was revealed to be the entrance to an underground tunnel and the highway descended into its gaping mouth. In the dim twilight she could just make out the shape of a sign to the side of the entranceway. She withdrew a flashlight from her heavy rucksack and used its dim beam of light to read its message.

_Aperture Science welcomes you to the Aperture Science Service Entrance. All deliveries must report to the Service Desk. All other visitors must report to the Main Reception at the Aperture Science Main Entrance, located 23 miles southeast._

The Dean's hunch had been right. As she shone her flashlight into the pit Chell watched the road stretch off into the darkness. She then descended into the pit, flashlight in hand, and continued downwards until the darkness completely surrounded the thin yellow beam of torchlight. The sloping cavern was enormous - wide enough to accommodate as many as eight trucks driving abreast if such a convoy was ever deemed necessary. As the road began to level out the light of her torch caught a glint from a reflective surface: glass from the windows of a small office booth that protruded across the first of the eight lanes. On the wall of the booth Chell caught sight of a cheery poster which eagerly advised her to sign in with the attendant before proceeding to the Warehouses - this must be the Service Desk that the earlier sign had wanted her to visit.

The remaining lanes of the highway were blocked by an immense metal shutter stretching from floor to ceiling. On seeing the obstacle across her path Chell cast the beam of the flashlight around the edges of the shutter searching for a way through. After struggling to find any weaknesses or signs of a lock she rolled her eyes in frustration – the shutter wouldn't have been an issue at all if she still had her Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device! She could see a patch of wall on the other side of the barrier where she could have easily placed a portal, and with a second portal placed on the wall beside her she would have been able to simply walk from one side of the barrier to the other. Since she had lost her portal gun during her battle against Wheatley she was forced to search for a more conventional method of breaking in. Turning her attention back to the Service Desk she observed that the walls of the booth flanked both sides of the barrier, and that both walls had glass windows half-heartedly protected with wooden planks. Giving a small nod of decision, Chell shrugged off the rucksack from her back and began sifting through its contents. She lifted out a sturdy grappling hook gun from the rucksack and dropped it on the ground beside her, a loud clang echoing along the walls of the vast tunnel. She then pulled out a steel crowbar coated in the remains of chipped orange paint and let it clatter to the ground beside the grappling gun. The Dean had really come through for her in the procurement of her equipment; she could only hope that they proved to be an adequate substitute for her portal gun.

After returning the grappling hook to the rucksack, she hoisted the bag onto her back and raised the crowbar like a champion baseball player. Chell then strode up to the window and wrenched the wooden planks off the glass before crashing the butt of her weapon into its vulnerable centre, shards of glass bursting out and shattering over the rough concrete floor. She knocked out the remaining fragments of the window and vaulted into the office, glass crunching under her Long Fall boots. After repeating her act of vandalism on the inner window she climbed through and found herself standing on the other side of the barrier, the road stretching on distantly into the darkness. One side of her mouth twitched up into a satisfied half-smirk. She was in.

A little further along the road Chell spotted a dim light in the distance. As she approached she realised she could now see without the use of her flashlight and returned it with the crowbar into her bag. Ahead the tunnel widened into a vast cavern stretching upwards and out for miles into an underground cathedral. The walls were dotted with floodlights which filled the room with a harsh bright light, illuminating the interior of the cavern to reveal row upon row of huge storage buildings. The cavern wall was painted with the label "Warehouse 01" in cracked yellow paint – was this a warehouse filled with… warehouses? As Chell walked along the narrow alleyways separating the structures, their walls towering high above her head, she read the descriptions of the contents of each building. Metal components. Metal instruments. Glassware. Polymers. Chemical reagents. Foodstuffs. Propane canisters. Liquid Nitrogen canisters. Crickets. Moon rocks. All the raw materials required for the day to day running of the laboratory, each stored in huge dedicated buildings miles underground. In its heyday this cavern must have fed and nourished the entire facility like a blood supply.

On emerging from the streets of warehouses and reaching the far end of the cavern Chell encountered a fork in the path. An arrow pointed left for Warehouses 02-14; right for Warehouses 15-30; and straight ahead for the Test Shafts and Administrative Offices. After reading her options she decided that the offices were the most likely place to find clues to Wheatley's fate; perhaps she could find employee records or other paperwork documenting the period he worked here. She marched forward into the smaller passageway, metallic footsteps softly echoing along the corridor, where she saw ahead a new sign: elevator shaft to Test Shafts and Administrative Offices. As Chell approached to inspect more closely she found the sign was correct on one point – there was indeed a shaft. However, there was no elevator to accompany the shaft, and the button optimistically inscribed with an "up" arrow proved to be useless. For the second time in an hour, Chell mourned the loss of her portal gun as she glared at an appealing wall surface taunting her from the top of the shaft. She knew all too well that this gnawing feeling of loss would become a common occurrence as she attempted to find her way through the facility without the gun's help.

Never one to feel sorry for herself if she could help it, Chell dropped her rucksack to the floor and withdrew her new grappling hook gun. She held it in the same manner as she once held her portal gun, and hesitatingly inspected the strange device trying to figure out its mechanism. It was roughly the same size as the portal gun, though a little larger and a little heavier with a spiked metal hook at its front resembling a thin three-legged spider. The gun had been borrowed from an adventurous friend of the Dean – she hadn't had a chance to practice firing it yet and she hoped she would be able to figure it out without killing or injuring herself in the process. Taking a deep breath, she pointed the grappling gun at the wall of the shaft far above her head and pulled the trigger. The recoil hit her as if she'd been punched. She almost dropped the gun as the hook shot out, launching for the ceiling with its chain trailing and jangling before thrusting into the wall a good two meters off her aim. The chain suddenly snapped tight, almost tugging her off her feet. She clung with both hands to the gun's handles and dragged her feet into the ground with the metal supports of her Long Fall boots scraping the stone. Steadying herself, she tugged on the gun to make sure the chain was securely embedded in the wall and tried to decide what she should do next.

There was another trigger on the gun's second handle. She experimentally tapped it. The gun bucked and pulled up – the chain was tightening. Unfortunately, the mechanism turned out to be too weak to lift both her and the gun; Chell's imagination conjured GLaDOS' voice into her head with a scathing comment on her weight. Shaking off her own insult, she realised she could instead use the second trigger to retract the chain after using it to climb to the top of the shaft. With this plan in mind she attempted to climb the chain – she jumped and clung to it with both legs. This approach proved to be unwise as she immediately began swinging rapidly towards the concrete wall opposite. With alarm frozen on her face she thrust out one leg boot-first and caught herself just in time – the support of the Long Fall boot cushioned her impact with the wall surface. She exhaled a heavy breath and swung her body around so that both boots rested against the wall, hands clinging to the chain and supporting her full weight. She raised one hand and began to climb, her legs walking up the side of the elevator shaft, hand over hand, arm muscles burning, palms hurting through her light gloves – and she still had a long way to go. She missed the portal gun terribly. She felt like a crippled bird hobbling along the ground after losing the use of its wings. At last she reached the top, every muscle on fire as she hauled herself over the edge panting for breath. She'd better be on the right floor.

As she caught her breath and rubbed her aching palms she remembered the gun swaying at the bottom of the shaft and reached over to yank the hook out of the wall. She wedged the end of the chain under one foot and hoisted the gun up the shaft, hands still sore from their previous exertion. She grabbed the gun as soon as it became within reach, freed the chain from under her foot and retracted it using the second trigger. The chain was sucked up into the gun barrel out of sight, followed by the hook rattling and slamming into place at the head of the gun. She returned the gun to her rucksack hoping she would never need it again but, on remembering her previous visit to the old underground facility, grudgingly knew that she probably would.

***  
Chell glared furiously at the crumbled stairs. This was now the third ruined flight of stairs she'd encountered, not to mention the number of broken elevators and catwalks she'd had to overcome. Her hands were covered in blisters, ruptured and seeping into her gloves, and the old injury in her wrist was stiff and sore. Every muscle in her arms and legs burned like hell. She had not appreciated how badly dilapidated the old Aperture laboratory really was - on her previous visit she had been able to simply fly over chasms left by broken catwalks, launch herself up inaccessible shafts and glide through broken doors like a ghost walking through walls. No obstacle had been enough to stop her; she had the power to go where she pleased. Now every bump on the road felt like a mountain to traverse. She had lost her strength, her abilities, and was reduced to a mere mortal, weak and powerless. With resentment plain on her face she once again raised the heavy grappling hook gun and fired across the fractured stairwell.

***  
She kicked the wooden door open with the heel of her Long Fall boot and took a step through, her breath rough and ragged in her throat. The cheap wood had splintered in a shower of dust and through the broken doorway Chell finally caught sight of her destination – the Administrative Offices. She sighed quietly with relief and trudged down the corridor, trailing and scraping the grappling gun from one uncaring hand. She was not entirely sure what she was looking for – an office of some description which documented the names of the facility staff. Infuriatingly, only a minority of the offices still had legible signs. She passed an office for Procurement followed by another ten that were unlabelled. She saw another office around the corner for the Legal Department, one further down for Accounting… Did Human Resources deal with staff or test subjects? Based on what she knew of Aperture she presumed the latter and continued on. Staff records, staff database, anything with staff in the name… Or employees… There, that looked promising! Employee Security and Wellbeing System - Control Room. Chell could only guess what exactly a Security and Wellbeing System was or why it merited an entire room to control it, but it was related to the employees and that was good enough for now. She still had an entire office block to search for more clues.

On trying the door she found it was tightly locked with a sturdy keypad. Of course it was, she grumbled internally. She briefly attempted to guess the code, but on finding that both "0000" and "1234" were incorrect she gave up in tired exasperation - why did this have to be the one thing in Old Aperture that wasn't broken? Changing approach, she raised the butt of her hated grappling gun above her head and smashed it down onto the keypad, again and again, until the small box of numbers capitulated and snapped off the door, hanging by loose wires. She turned the handle, panting for breath. The door was still locked. For the first time in months a sound escaped Chell's silent lips, a noise that vaguely resembled the growl of a bear: hoarse and exhausted and angry. She would not admit defeat, not when she was so close, not when she could finally obtain closure and put everything that had happened behind her! She wrenched the crowbar from her bag and slammed it into the space recently vacated by the keypad, as if she was hoping to physically rip out the programming that was stubbornly blocking her path. It quickly became apparent this strategy was not achieving anything other than stress relief and she soon stopped. She had to keep her cool. Keep calm. She hadn't solved hundreds of deadly Aperture tests by getting annoyed with them. No, she should stay calm and think. The door was made from thick steel, as was the frame. She couldn't smash her way through, but perhaps she could carefully prise the door open by using the crowbar? She tried it, wedging the thin metal edge between the door and its frame, rocking it back and forth. Suddenly she heard a sharp crack – it-it couldn't be, did the lock just break? As she turned the handle the lock now felt loose; there was definitely something rattling inside it. She flashed a grin at her luck and, once again, she raised her crowbar and smashed it into the door – it burst open this time, swinging back on its hinges so violently it slammed into the wall inside the office. Chell sauntered into the control room with the crowbar over one shoulder, stepping over the remains of the broken lock with a lopsided smirk.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw in front of her an enormous control panel occupying almost an entire wall of the dark office. The control panel consisted of a large glass monitor screen above a keyboard covered in letters and a black circular dial. Below the keyboard was a row of buttons labelled "rewind", "play/pause" and "fast forward". On approaching the control panel Chell saw the system was off and the monitor blank. She looked around her for a solution – and quickly saw one on the wall beside her: "Aperture Science Electrical Power Switch for Aperture Science Employee Security and Wellbeing System". As she pulled the lever Chell could only hope that the system was still functional after so many years. Fortunately, the small red light on the breaker switched to a bright green and the fluorescent strip lights above her hummed and flickered into life. Chell watched as the monitor screen slowly brightened, like an elderly man waking from a long nap. She waited expectantly as the system booted up, words and letters boldly flashing across the screen as her nerves churned in her stomach. Would this system really give her the answers about Wheatley that she craved? The screen flashed to pure bright white and an early Aperture Science logo rose into view resembling an orange setting sun. Suddenly a voice boomed out of the system causing Chell to jump in panic.

"Cave Johnson here, welcoming you to the Aperture Science Employee Security and Wellbeing System! So, what is this system I hear you asking? If you weren't asking that and you've been sitting on that chair using the system for months, then why don't you just go ahead and press the "enter" button on the keyboard, that'll skip this little introduction. Alright, you've done that? Good. Now then, new security employee, what is the system for? Well, I'm glad you asked - I like that in a new recruit! This system here is designed to ensure the security and wellbeing of every one of Aperture's products and patents by tracking the activities of our employees. We've had too damn many products getting stolen or copied by our rivals – talkin' about you _Black Mesa_… We must have someone on the inside, some filthy rat among us going through our intellectual property and passing it on to the highest bidder, damn Black Mesa spies! That where you come in, son, you're here to keep an eye on everyone and catch them in the act! Now, you may or may not remember that we inserted a little chip into your spine on your first day here at Aperture. That is your identity chip. Try not to lose it. We used to have identity cards but the damn cowards kept taking them off! Chips into the spine, much safer! Now, this system has hundreds of state-of-the-art cameras dotted all over the facility. It's their job to scan for every employee's identity chip and track their location in real time. As our man in the sky you're able to watch the feed from each camera individually - just type the camera's name or number on that keyboard in front of you and up it pops! Or, if you've got your eye on somebody in particular you can type in his name instead. Your screen will jump automatically to whatever camera the dirty rat's standing in front of and watch him as he moves around the labs, jumping from camera to camera as he goes. Can't hide from Cave Johnson, no sir! There's an archive feature too, so if you suspect that he's been up to no good for a long time then you'll be able to go back and watch all the recorded footage we have of him. The recordings go back as far as 1971, a good few years now, so there'll be plenty of evidence if we ever need it in a prosecution. Now then, you got all that? Good, I like a fast learner. Now get to work and catch me some thieving rats! Cave Johnson out, we're done here."

Chell stared at the screen in shock as Cave's booming voice vanished back into the silence. This computer could show her recorded footage of any Old Aperture employee, including Wheatley? For the entire period that he worked here? This was far better than she had expected; she had only hoped for a name printed on a dusty file or perhaps a grainy photograph if she was lucky. But a video showing everything, this was beyond her wildest expectations. She would be able to see his first day of work, just after he left the Dean in Maple Hill. She would learn how he lived day-to-day; see his friends, acquaintances and colleagues. She would be able to get a feel for his personality and watch it change over the years, watch it darken and twist into the personality she knew and still encountered in her nightmares. She would finally learn the connection that this man had with the robot she hated - were they really the same person? If they were…she would be able to see what he looked like. When he was young and human; made from flesh and blood and not cold metal. Unfamiliar excitement and curiosity bubbled inside her and she turned to the options presented to her on the screen.

_-Enter camera name/number_

_-Enter employee name/number_

_-Browse cameras A-Z_

_-Browse employees A-Z_

Experimentally, Chell tapped the "down" arrow on the keyboard and highlighted each of the options by scrolling down. Setting the cursor to "Enter employee name/number" she then tapped "enter": the only key she had heard Cave Johnson mention. The next screen politely requested the employee name she was searching for. Chell slowly typed the name she had obsessed over for months.

WHEATLEY

The system pondered for a few seconds before suggesting:

_Wheatley, Stephen_

_Junior Accountant 1974-1982_

_Senior Accountant 1982-1983_

_Financial Advisor 1983-1986_

Wheatley had been promoted to Financial Advisor? That sounded like an important position. The kind of job that required a high level of intelligence and responsibility: two traits she did not associate with the idiot sphere she had known. She hit "enter" a second time.

_Employee identity chip not detected. Live tracking unavailable - please select a date from which to begin archive playback._

The screen now displayed a long thin bar labelled with "September 1974" on the far left and "January 1986" at the opposite end. By rotating the black circular dial Chell watched as the cursor on the bar flicked rapidly through days, months and years. She rotated the cursor to the far left, to 1974, and hit play.


	3. An Honorary Michiganer

Chell stared intently into the blackness of the monitor, waiting for the surveillance video of Wheatley's life to begin. Involuntarily leaning forward in her chair in expectation, she jumped when a line of crisp white numbers appeared in the bottom right of the screen – a timestamp.

_[18:06 - Sep 22 1974]_

Objects began to appear out of the gloom, dull at first, before blooming into bright colour and clarity revealing a room. A small and untidy room, with a steel bunk bed, a small round table, and some tiny chairs. There were two men in this room: one on the upper bunk, and the other slouching at the table.

"Ah, umm, mate? Sorry, mate, but could you not cut your toenails there? With- with my scissors. It's a bit disgusting, with their- um- flying everywhere and getting stuck and standing on them with bare feet in the morning. If you don't mind, mate."

It was his voice. She'd barely even heard the words the voice had said, it didn't matter, it was his voice and _she'd found him_. And how happy she was to hear that voice again! She had expected pain, trauma, flashbacks… Instead she only felt relief that she'd found him after her long and exhausting journey. That must be him up there on the top bunk; the man whose lips had moved to accompany the familiar voice. She stared at him in curiosity and something resembling excitement. The man named Wheatley was tall and slender - bordering thin - and had brown hair the colour of sand. Brown hair that looked desperately in need of a cut and couldn't seem to agree which way it was growing. His blue eyes appeared tiny behind the large glasses he wore. They were the kind of glasses you wore when you couldn't afford any of the others in the shop, dull and round and grey. A sense of anti-climax settled in Chell's stomach – was she _disappointed_ by his unremarkable appearance? Why should it even matter what her nemesis looked like in a previous life? She chastised herself for being so… silly, and attempted to purge the thought from her mind.

She watched as Wheatley propped himself up on one elbow to glare apologetically at the man slouched at the table. This man was dark-haired, tanned and burly, and the polar opposite of his roommate. The man paused in his grooming and raised his eyes to his accuser.

"Aww, relax buddy, where else am I supposed to do it? Keep your panties on, I'll make sure they go in the trash this time."

To Chell's surprise she realised that she also recognised the voice of Wheatley's roommate. It was the voice of the Adventure Core. What had the core called himself… Rick? She had never imagined that _all_ of the Personality Cores had human counterparts; for some reason she had assumed that Wheatley was an exception. Chell remembered with new horror the other Personality Cores she had encountered at Aperture - were the personalities of these cores inspired by individual humans, or had they once _been_ human?

Wheatley's jittery recorded voice brought Chell back to the present.

"But mate, you said that last time too and I was picking bits of nail out of my feet for days! And! And you took my scissors without asking me then as well!"

Rick rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"Man, you are so uptight! You gotta learn to relax and not sweat the small stuff, alright four-eyes?"

Despite his words, Rick put the scissors down on the table and began sweeping toenail debris into the palm of his hand.

"Jeez, you'd think you would've lost some of that… stiffness or whatever by now, how long have you been stateside now?"

Wheatley sat up as he pondered, subconsciously adjusting his glasses.

"Well, I've been in America for two years now and I… oh wait, hang on, that's not why I'm uptight!" he said, before realising what he had just accused himself of. "No, wait! I'm not uptight at all! I'm just mildly concerned about small spiky disgusting things embedding themselves in my feet, that's all!" he squawked, his pale face flushing with indignation.

"If you say so, buddy." A warm smile gently spread across Rick's handsome face as he dusted the debris carefully into the trash. He then crossed the room in two strides and flopped onto the bottom bunk with a satisfied sigh, hands cushioning his head.

"So, since you've been here so long, have you actually seen much of Michigan?" he asked. "Outside of the facility I mean. The whole area around the lab's pretty spectacular, did I tell you about the time me and the guys went hiking in the forest? It goes on for miles, man, nothing but trees as far as you can see, it's awesome! Pretty sure we saw a bear coming for us off in the distance, can't say for sure, but we ran away real quick. You get moose and deer and stuff up here too, it's a real wilderness!" said Rick, the thrill of adventure lighting up his eyes.

Wheatley did not share his roommate's enthusiasm.

"Ahh… no. Not really actually. I haven't seen much of the countryside at all, not much of an _outdoors _person, me. I seem to break out in this strange rash whenever I go outside for too long, not sure if something's biting me or if it's just the sun that doesn't like me," he said miserably. Suddenly his face lit up with exhilaration.

"Did you see a beaver in the forest? I've always wanted to see a beaver, with their… with their big teeth and the way they chomp on wood and you've got their… their big paddley beaver tails. You don't get them back home - I think we hunted them all - closest thing we have in the UK is an otter…Never seen an otter either, actually. But I would like to see a beaver!"

As Wheatley spoke at length on his passion for semi-aquatic rodents, Chell watched a mischievous grin creep across Rick's face, unseen by Wheatley on the bunk above.

"Uhh, buddy, you want to see a _beaver_?" he asked, struggling to hide the laughter from his voice. "You know they don't exist, right?"

Wheatley sat up and looked down at his roommate in confusion.

"Y-Yes they do, they live in rivers and they make dams out of trees!" he protested.

"Where did you see them making dams? Probably in a Disney movie, right?" Rick sneered patronisingly.

Wheatley's bafflement grew and sprouted into something resembling panic.

"Uh-umm, it…. may have been?" he stammered. "But- but those cartoons were based on a real animal, like- like Bambi was…"

"Man, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but beavers _do not exist_. They're fictional; _everyone_ knows they were invented by Walt Disney. Didn't you think it was weird that they ate wood? Mammals don't eat _wood_ in real life. And what kind of creature has a paddle for a tail, seriously? Man, I can't believe you thought beavers were real!" he said, struggling with laughter.

"They… don't exist? They're really not real? You're not just saying that, are you, you're not just trying to confuse me?" Wheatley asked, his voice quiet.

"No way, I'm just thinking of you, buddy. What if you went out and started talking to everyone about going to see a beaver? Man, would they laugh at you… It'd be so embarrassing for you - I'm just trying to help. Giving you a quick heads-up, you know, save you any future embarrassment."

"R-really? Well, thanks… To think beavers aren't real animals… I don't know what to believe anymore…" he said. He sounded lost, confused, and his whole body sagged with disappointment.

Rick's severe expression began to crack and he suddenly couldn't contain himself any longer. His laughter exploded out of him, filling the small room.

"I can't believe you fell for that, you're so gullible! Oh man, I have to tell everyone…"

Rick jumped up from his bunk, knocking the small table aside in his enthusiasm and causing it to wobble precariously. He threw open the door, out of view from Chell's camera angle, and hollered down the hallway.

"Hey Keith! Keith! Oh hey, Keith, you'll never guess the prank I just pulled on Wheatley! Yeah, yeah, my roommate. No, Wheatley's the new one, you know… skinny… glasses… yeah, that's the one. Anyway, I told him beavers weren't real animals! …Yeah, I told him they were made up in some Disney cartoon …He sure did, bought the whole thing! …I know, right?"

As Rick's loud gloats wafted through the open door from the corridor, Wheatley rolled over onto his stomach and burrowed his face into the pillow with a low moan. As he realised he was crushing his glasses, his moan raised an octave in irritation and he flopped onto his side, curling into a foetal position. Chell heard him mutter into his knees under his breath.

"…of course they exist… never doubting them again… and never, _ever_ believing Rick again, not one word… that stupid scissor-stealing… probably start telling me that bears are made up… or that dogs are really cats… or that skunks are real animals… not falling for anything…"

Chell chuckled silently to herself. Apparently human Wheatley was as much of a moron as robot Wheatley was. She switched her gaze from his embarrassment back to the control panel of the Security System, looking for a way to see more of Wheatley's life. She had come here for a reason, after all. She spotted the "fast forward" button and firmly pressed it.

_[20:47 - Jan 13 1975]_

"…so then the Mom asks her _second_ daughter, "Why were you laughing so hard in your bedroom last night?" And the second daughter replies, "You always said to laugh if something tickles." Right, so then the Mom turns to her _third_ daughter and asks her, "Why were you so quiet in your bedroom last night?" And then…!"

Rick glanced at the expectant faces of the guys leaning towards him, huddling closer around the tiny wooden table of the dorm room. His grin widened.

"And then the third daughter says, all cool and calm like, "Well mother, you always said to never speak with my mouth full!"

A roar of noise blasted through the speakers as the men exploded into rowdy laughter. One of them slapped Rick heartily on the back.

"Man, Rick's jokes are always awesome!"

At the centre of the manly huddle, looking like a confused giraffe lost amongst a herd of buffalo, sat Wheatley. He giggled nervously but his eyes lingered on Rick - on the guys laughing with him, their looks of admiration, still slapping his back, even a fist bump. Wheatley cleared his throat loudly.

"Well, if you gentlemen like a dirty joke then let me lay this one on you! Heard this one from the best! Right then… uhh… there's a… a man, and there's a nun. And the man goes up to the nun and he says – oh wait, they're on a bus! Yeah, they're on a bus, man walks up to the nun and says, "I want to have sex with you!" Right, so then the nun says "I can't do that, mate, I'm a nun! I gave my body to God, can't be doing that!" So then the guy goes up to her house later on and he's dressed up as a priest. And the guy – ooh, no wait! Wait, I forgot a bit! Back on the bus, right, from the start, the guy speaks to the bus _driver_ after he gets rejected by the nun, and the driver says "Oh, mate, I know how you can have sex with that nun!" And _he's_ the one who tells him to dress as a priest, that's it! So yeah, they're at the nun's house, guy's dressed as a priest, nun's dressed as a …nun, and the guy says to the nun "Hi luv, I'm a priest here and God said I'm supposed to have sex with you". And so the nun says "Alright, mate, if God said to do it then it must be ok". And then… uhh… it turns out the nun is actually the bus driver. From the start. He was dressed as a nun. 'Cause he told the… the bloke to dress… as a …priest."

Bored blank faces surrounded Wheatley. Someone coughed uncomfortably. Another guy took a swig from his bottle, carefully avoiding eye contact. Wheatley flushed and adjusted his glasses on his nose, fingers lingering across his face a little longer than necessary.

Suddenly Rick burst out laughing. He slapped Wheatley hard on the back with a broad grin, causing the younger man to wince slightly, and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Oh man, you always crack me up! You sure know how to tell a joke, Wheatley," he said, with genuine affection in his voice. "Where'd you hear that one from?"

Wheatley stared blankly for a second, before he puffed up with pride and grinned at his roommate.

"The janitor at my old school told me that one, used to tell me _loads_ of naughty jokes. We used to always have lunch together, back at school." Wheatley trailed off with a sad, wistful look on his face.

"Man's a genius," said Rick with absolute sincerity.

In the small, dank office fifty years in the future Chell watched the images on the screen with a look of mild surprise. She hadn't expected Wheatley to have any _friends_, he just didn't seem the type. Although, perhaps all that would change before too long, Chell thought to herself bitterly as she tapped the buttons of the control panel.

_[13:52 - Oct 20 1976]_

The camera switched to a new view showing long metal tables and the sounds of cutlery clinking: was this a canteen? The camera must have detected Wheatley's ID chip somewhere in the room, Chell scanned the view looking for – there! His hair was shorter and a little less unkempt, but it was him. Wheatley stood at the edge of Chell's view clutching a tray with the scattered remains of lunch. His eyes were not on the stack of trays in front of him but instead gazing over to his right, towards the tables. Chell followed his line of sight as he nervously bit his lower lip. A woman. Perching daintily on the hard metal bench, tucking a lock of curled blonde hair behind her ear, turning a page of her book. He was gazing at _her_? Hatred inexplicably flared up inside Chell and a thousand hurtful comments towards the woman rushed uninvited into her mind. Her reaction surprised her; she didn't know this woman, why would she suddenly rush to hate her? She sighed - she knew why. She couldn't hide it, pretend she didn't know. She was jealous.

Wheatley turned from the woman back to the stack of trays with an intense look of concentration on his face; she could almost hear the frantic conversation he must be having in his head trying to psyche himself up. With a nod and a deep breath, he slammed the tray askew onto the stack and marched off towards the blonde woman.

As he approached, the woman raised her attention from her book and gave a polite, if perplexed smile.

"Can I… help you?" she asked, still holding her book in front of her.

As their eyes met, Wheatley gave an involuntary twitch and his gaze flicked to the empty chair beside her. He clenched his hands nervously together and cleared his throat.

"Yes, hello, I… I just came over here to say that… uhh… I've been watching you for a while. No wait! That sounded weird! Didn't mean it to sound weird, not at all, that was not my intention. It's just, you know, we work on the same corridor and…and we always seem to have lunch at the same time and I was just looking around the cafeteria, minding my own business, and then I saw you and I thought "Oh, there's that woman again" and I realised I don't know your name and I'd… well… I'd like to know your name?"

On hearing him speak, the woman lowered her book and smiled gently at the jittery wreck in front of her.

"Betty. My name's Betty. I don't believe I remember seeing you around, but it's very nice to meet you." She placed the book down on the table and raised her hand towards him. He went to grasp her hand, then stopped himself, wiped his palm on his crumpled trousers and finally reached over to shake her hand.

"I'm Wheatley, everyone calls me Wheatley! I work in Accounting, you're just down the corridor in Legal - we're corridor buddies! Right then… oh!" He suddenly remembered to let go of Betty's hand and jumped back, grinning awkwardly at her. Betty smiled and gazed at him thoughtfully.

"Accounting… I suppose I _may_ have seen you before… But this is definitely the first time I've heard you speak. That's an English accent isn't it? It's so… different." Chell's scowl darkened at the look the woman was giving him.

"Uhh, well… yes, I am English, but I've been here for years and years now. I'm practically a local! An honorary Michiganer! Michiganite? A-anyway, I did come over to ask, would you… argh…" His voice sounded like it got lost somewhere in his throat. "…Would you like to go somewhere…sometime…?"

Betty gave a girlish giggle. The sound grated at Chell's ears like a cat running its claws down her face.

"Are you asking me out, Mr Wheatley?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! …Probably should've just started with that, that's a much better way of wording it, got a bit tied up there." He unnecessarily cleared his throat before asking, "Would you like to go out with me, Betty?"

"I would very much like to go out with you, Mr Wheatley." Betty smiled and demurely curled a strand of hair between her fingers.

The extent of her jealousy angered Chell. Why did she feel like this - she didn't care for Wheatley, she hated him! He had wronged her, hurt her, and occupied her every thought for months. But that didn't change the burning rage she felt on seeing him smile at that woman… He was _her_ former friend, _her_ betrayer, _her_ enemy. He was _hers_.

_[17:38 - Oct 20 1976]_

"…and mate, you should've been there, she was all "I'd love to go out with you, Wheatley!" and giggling and flirting. I think she really fancies me!"

"That's great buddy! What did you say her name was, Betty? Hmm…from Legal… yeah, I think I've seen her around, she's the blonde, right? She's quite a catch, I'm impressed!" said Rick, rising from his bunk to give Wheatley a congratulatory slap on the back.

Wheatley puffed out his chest and his gloating grin broadened, threatening to take up his whole face. Chell felt the urge to smack him.

"So… what's the plan of attack?" asked Rick with a conspiring smirk.

Wheatley's grin dropped and his eyes widened in horror.

"I-I'm sorry? We're just having dinner in the canteen tomorrow night, no-one's attacking anyone!"

Rick sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I'm talking strategy, man, strategy! You ever been on a date with a woman before?"

Wheatley blushed a little and fidgeted.

"Ahh, well …no. Never really got round to asking anyone out before…"

"Ok, in that case we can forget about first base, you're not even at the ball park yet! Your objective is a second date, that's all, just to make it through the first date and into the second. And how are you going to do that, soldier!?"

"Umm… just be my confident and charming self?"

"Wrong answer soldier! But don't you worry your little nerdy head, with someone like me as your wingman the date will be a walk in the park! You want me to tell you the big secret to getting a second date?"

"Please!" Wheatley sounded desperate.

"Alright then, you got it! The secret to a second date is to do just two things on the first date." He thrust two fingers in front of Wheatley's face, causing him to jump.

"A-and what would those be? Should I get a pen?"

"No need! It's simple really, just a bit of clever psychology. The first thing you need to remember is _do not talk about yourself_. At all. Under any circumstances. Not one thing. If she absolutely insists and asks you a direct question then you just gotta deflect it so that it's about her. Like…"

He put on a high girlish voice and pursed his lips at Wheatley.

"So, handsome, what do you like to do in your spare time?"

Switching back to his usual gruff voice he then replied to himself.

"Thinking about how beautiful you are, angel!" You see? You're making everything about her, making everything a compliment. That's all you gotta do buddy, she'll lap it up!"

Wheatley nodded, clearly making a mental note in his head.

"Alright, that makes a lot of sense! Just a bit of the old psychopathy. That's really is quite clever, I'll remember that one! So what was the second thing?"

Rick grinned, clearly in his element.

"Yeah, the second thing, well that one's simple too. You just gotta laugh at _every goddamn thing_ she says, whether it's funny or not. If you think she's even remotely trying to be funny then laugh like it's the absolute most hilarious thing you've ever heard in your whole life. It flatters her, you see? You're making everything about her again and that's all she wants. You'll get a second date for sure, buddy."

"Ok, ok, I've got it! Talk about her and laugh at her, that's what I need to do. That's… all I need to do… Thanks, mate, I feel much more confident now! I-I mean, I was really nervous just two minutes ago, like on-the-verge-of-throwing-up nervous, but now I'll get a second date for sure, just like you said! Thanks again mate!"

_[21:16 - Oct 21 1976]_

"…plenty more fish in the sea, don't let one woman get you down, buddy."

Rick sat with one broad arm slung across Wheatley's narrow shoulders. Wheatley was hunched over, unshed tears in his eyes, looking as if he was attempting to melt into the bunk they both sat on.

"I-I just don't get it… I did everything you said." His voice cracked and he sniffed, wiping his nose on his crisp new shirt. "I mean, I laughed at everything she said. She was telling me about how she wanted to leave Aperture and be a- a- some kind of lawyer for animals. I mean, that was a really funny joke so I laughed at that. And! And I never spoke about myself! Not once! …Never spoke about myself… well, apart from what I said about being broke and estranged from my parents. Now that I think about it I probably shouldn't have mentioned that. I-I think that comes under the category of "talking about yourself", doesn't it?" he moaned miserably.

As Wheatley continued the post-mortem of his date Chell couldn't help but feel relieved. She fast-forwarded through Wheatley's pain with a satisfied smirk.

_[08:22 - May 05 1979]_

Chell jumped – Wheatley was staring _right at her_. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest as she watched him… watch her. He was dressed only in loose pyjama bottoms, presumably in the middle of getting dressed. He couldn't really see her…?

"Rick? Mate, has that security camera always been up there?"

"Hmm, camera?" Rick looked up from the magazine – _porn_ magazine – that he was reading and joined his roommate in staring at Chell.

"What, you mean that smoke detector? That's been there for years…and it's a smoke detector. Man, you're so paranoid sometimes." Rick laughed dismissively and returned his attention to the centre-fold in front of him.

"Are you sure?" Wheatley tilted his head like a baffled dog as he inspected Chell. "Really looks like a camera… I wouldn't put it past Mr Johnson to have cameras hidden everywhere."

"Trust me, buddy, you really think they'd have cameras in people's _bedrooms_? That's just sick, even Cave wouldn't go that far. It's a smoke detector, I promise you."

Wheatley did not look particularly convinced.

"…Well, alright, if you're sure. I'll take your word for it, mate."

Keeping one suspicious eye on Chell, he turned back to the wardrobe and raised one hand to fumble at the knot on his pyjamas. Suddenly realising what was coming next, Chell blushed and frantically groped for the fast forward button, averting her eyes.

_[11:03 - July 17 1981]_

Chell watched Wheatley as he sat at his desk, bored. He tapped the keys of his calculator. He wrote some numbers on a form. He took a sip of tea. _Foxy dude_, it said on the cup. He wrote something else. Yawned, scribbled something on a notebook. A doodle of a bunny eating a calculator. He stirred his tea with a chewed pen. Glanced at the clock. Glanced at a poster. Hang in there! Turned back to his desk with a blank face. Licked the dripping pen and continued his work.

In boredom Chell firmly held the fast forward button down, causing months of Wheatley's life to pass like seconds. She saw the same scenes fly past, again and again. Wheatley at his desk with a calculator. Wheatley in his room with Rick, talking and laughing. Wheatley at his desk again. She hadn't been expecting this: the monotony, _the innocence_. Where was all the cruelty? The plotting and manipulation, the back-stabbing? It must be still to come, Wheatley had worked at Aperture for another 5 years after all. He must become more evil over time, Chell assured herself as she advanced the video by another year.

_[17:06 – Apr 21 1983]_

"Rick! Rick! Mate, you'll never guess what! I got it, I got the promotion! Financial Advisor, I'm a Financial Advisor now! I advise people on… financial things, that's me, that's my job, that's what I do now! Now that I'm a Financial Advisor! No more Senior Accounting for me, just-just Advising and…What, what's the face for?"

Wheatley paused mid-flap to stare at his roommate in concern. Rick shifted uncomfortably before meeting his gaze.

"I told you, man, that job's going to be more trouble than it's worth. Didn't you believe me when I told you what happened to the last guy? Just yesterday, I was talking to Randy down in Weapons Development, you've met Randy right? Well, anyway, he knew the last Financial Adviser pretty well. Randy was saying the poor guy's still a wreck and he can hardly get out of bed some days. It was Cave who did that to him! Do you really think he's going to go any easier on some rookie Financial Adviser? No, you're gonna take all the same crap the previous guy took, all the stress and- and the pressure from Cave. It's a thankless, friendless job and you're gonna hate it, and I don't want to see you end up like the last poor sucker."

Wheatley held Rick's intense gaze, shocked at the extent of his roommate's concern. He gave a weak smile.

"Don't worry Rick, I'll be alright! They said in the interview that I was the only man for the job! Or it might have been the only man who applied for the job, I forget… They told me lots of things at the interview, bit of an information overload to be honest, kind of struggled to take it all in. Well, no matter, they still picked me to be Financial Adviser! Didn't they? They must believe I can handle it! Maybe- maybe Cave just didn't like the last guy… or maybe he wasn't very good… A-anyway, I'll be fine!"

He gave an unconvincing grin.


	4. The Escape Goat

**Thank you so much to Vi-Violence, Obsessive Fan, VanillaCoffeeCream, EggplantWitch and 19James92 for your reviews! You're all very kind and if I could hug you I would!**

Holed up in the small office miles underground, Chell sat hunched over the surveillance system monitor. She gazed intently at the video in front of her, tightly hugging her knees and completely lost to her musty surroundings. She raised one finger and gingerly tapped the fast forward button, careful not to miss Wheatley's first day of his new job as Financial Adviser. Wheatley, in a high-ranking position of responsibility? Now _this_ was something she had to see.

_[09:20 – Apr 25 1983]_

"…$1,388,373 over budget, which is… let's see… a hundred thousand dollars more than last quarter. The Weapons Development department is running at a deficit of $2,145,625 and that is… umm… also up from last quarter. Quantum Tunnelling Development is also…"

Cave Johnson sat in his huge throne of chair, elbows planted firmly on his grand desk, listening to Wheatley in the manner of a king tolerating a hated court jester. He glared at the skinny dork of a man as he gestured wildly from the other side of his desk. Glared at his papers and his numbers; at his red ink and bad news.

Suddenly, Cave barked out an interruption.

"Alright, alright I get it already! We are majorly in the red! I get it! So then, Mr Financial Adviser, what do you advise that we do about our finances? That's what I pay you for around here, let's hear your expert opinions."

Wheatley paused, unsettled his boss's gaze, and struggled to hide his nerves.

"W-well, I've been looking over the figures, at all our turnover and expenditure and so on, and I think I have a couple of suggestions for how we can reduce Aperture's debt!"

Cave continued to glare, his expression darkening with malevolence.

"Go on."

"Ahh, r-right, well… First up are just some points on general efficiency and reducing wastage. I-I noticed that we seem to spend a lot on overheads, like lighting and heating and-"

"I know what overheads are, boy, now _what do you suggest_?" barked Cave.

Wheatley jumped, dropping his gaze and nearly the stack of papers as well. He fiddled with his glasses, wiped his brow and tried to control his panic.

"Uhh, ahh, well, d-do we really need to have every floodlight in the facility burning 24 hours a day? I mean it would really-"

"Yes, of course we need them on! What else are we supposed to do, sit in the dark? Think, boy! What else do you have?" Cave tapped his broad fingers impatiently on the desk.

"Ahh, w-well, there's heating as well. I sort of noticed that we're running completely separate systems for heating the offices and for heating the furnaces and incinerator, do you think we can maybe…?"

Cave raised one bushy eyebrow at him.

"N-never mind, it was a silly… moving on…"

Wheatley flicked through page after page of notes, desperately seeking a suggestion that wouldn't be immediately shot down by Cave.

"Well, how about this one… We seem to spend a lot on crickets and other insects, I mean we're ordering _crates_ of them at a time, every week, and I-I spoke to the head of animal storage and he only uses a fraction of them, same with the other departments too. I can't see why we would ever need that many, so we could… maybe order less?"

"Absolutely not! We can't cut our Cricket Budget, boy, it's a vital part of the work we do here!"

"But-but what are they used for?" spluttered Wheatley.

Cave rose from his desk, shoving his chair back.

"I don't pay you to question me! You're a _numbers_ guy, remember, not a Science guy! And if you don't have anything useful to suggest then get out of my office!" he shouted, jamming a finger towards the door.

"But I'm not finished-"

"GET OUT!"

As Wheatley clutched at his fluttering papers in his escape from the office, Chell pondered to herself. Was it just her imagination, or did Wheatley seem almost… competent? Chell didn't know much about finance or running a business, but his ideas seemed to have a certain logic behind them that even she could appreciate. Who knew that Wheatley could be so sensible? If only he had even the smallest amount of bravery to back those ideas up against Cave's opposition.

With a derisive smirk on her lips, Chell spun the dial to speed through years of Wheatley's time as Financial Advisor. She realised she was seeing the same scene flash by time and time again: the same office and the same two people.

_[09:18 – Jun 11 1985]_

As she pressed play she noticed that Wheatley had aged visibly in the last five minutes: he had lost some of his boyish scruffiness over the years and gained a few lines around his eyes and mouth. He appeared haggard and exhausted as he lifted his stack of papers and proceeded to flick through them.

"Right, well, things haven't improved from last week I'm afraid. Still… still a lot of debt. Lots of debt, big, massive deficits and far too much red. Actually, is there any black on here? …No, no black at all, all red, we are… well and truly… in the red. So yes, my advice would be… well… maybe some kind of massive insurance scam? Just-just my little joke there, please don't… O-other than that, let's see… Well, there is the same suggestion I made last week, you know, with the cutting down on Moon rocks? It really is our biggest- No, don't give me the look again, I know…"

As Wheatley continued to fumble through his notes and suggestions Chell noticed with a start the date on the video's timestamp. June 1985 – this was only seven months before the end of the footage in January 1986! What could possibly have happened during these months to turn this well-meaning, if spineless, idiot into, well, _her_ Wheatley? She decided to be a little more prudent with the fast forward button; she had to pay close attention during these crucial final months.

_[09:46 – Jun 18 1985]_

"And don't give me any of that "negative results are still valuable" bullcrap. That's loser talk and there's no room for losers at Aperture! This place is run entirely by winners, and winners know that only positive results are worth a damn. Seriously, if you people haven't got that into your heads by now then just pack your things and go. Take your precious negative results and show them to someone who gives a crap!"

Cave glowered furiously at the guilty faces seated around him, his broad hands grasping at the long table.

"I mean, how hard can it be to extract a man's intelligence onto a computer? Everything's done on computers these days! What's taking you people so long with this one? How can a man's thoughts be any different from music or movies, or some computer program? That stuff gets recorded onto disks every damn day!"

He scanned the table like a wolf choosing its next meal.

"You! Lab coat! What's-your-name… Jenkins!"

Jenkins bolted upright like a startled deer, sweat on his brow and panic on his face. His colleagues turned to him, offering their silent looks of condolence.

"You're supposed to be in charge of running the extraction procedure, what's the hold-up?"

"Uh, well… we believe the delay is due to a technical issue with our equipment. I-I mean, we've run test after test but all our attempts at extraction have been unsuccessful to date. However, the results we've obtained have been very illuminating and we hope to learn from our negative res- …No! No! Wait, that's not what I meant to say! I was going to say… uh…"

"Jenkins. Pack your things, you're fired. There's no room for loser talk at Aperture."

Every eye at the table was on Jenkins as he rose shakily from his chair. He walked past his former colleagues in a daze, gently pushed the boardroom door open and stepped outside into the hallway.

"Right, where were we? That's right… You! Other Lab boy! Beside the empty chair, it's Garcia isn't it? Perhaps you'd like to continue where Dr I-Love-Failure left off?"

Garcia cast a quick nervous glance to the vacated seat beside him before answering Cave.

"Well, umm, I think what Dr Jenkins was trying to say was that we're still in the process of optimising the extraction procedure. The best we've managed to achieve so far from our experiments is a partial intelligence extraction from the test subjects. In other words, the robot subjects to date have all been corrupted or completely non-functional, whereas the human subjects have all suffered partial to complete brain death. In order to improve these results we've tried a whole range of different wavelengths and voltages for the Intelligence Extractor, and we've also experimented with different cognitive states of the test subjects too. We subjected some to mental or emotional duress, others were drugged into a state of bliss, another group was rendered unconscious-"

"Cut to the chase man!"

"Oh, ok, well, it's just that we've tried so many experimental parameters that have all resulted in complete failure or only partial intelligence extraction. We therefore came to the conclusion that the most likely cause of the failure is that the equipment itself is not sufficient for our needs. We need something that's at the cutting edge, and we did put in a request to Finance for new equipment but…"

Cave switched his piercing gaze to a bespectacled man in a sharp suit.

"Edwards! Why didn't Finance approve their funding request? I thought I told you to give these guys everything they need!"

Edwards calmly held Cave's scrutiny and replied.

"We simply do not have the finance in place to approve every funding request that we receive. The equipment the team is currently using is not even six months old. It is far too soon to decide that it is cause of their lack of success and not, for example, shoddy experimental work. I'm sure that results will be obtained if enough time and effort is put into them and not merely by throwing money at the problem."

Garcia gasped in outrage at Edwards' remark.

"Hey! Take that back! We're working ourselves to the bone here trying to get this to work, not like _some_ people who just sit at their desks all day!"

Edwards sighed, like a parent to a greedy child.

"You know what they say about bad workmen and their tools…" he sneered.

Cave slapped a hand to the table, preventing Garcia from rising to the bait and startling the board members.

"Enough, people! Quit bickering, we've all got to work together to solve this sucker! And besides…" His voice became quiet and icy.

"Why am I only being informed now about the Intelligence Extraction Team's funding shortages? Wheatley, look alive!"

Wheatley jumped and attempted to cover the doodle he'd been drawing.

"I thought I made it perfectly clear you're supposed to advise me of all problems with our finances? Or was _Financial Adviser_ not a clear enough job description for you?" Cave asked through gritted teeth.

Wheatley gave an offended squawk.

"Wait, me? You're blaming _me_ for this? Oh hang on Mr Johnson, that's a bit unfair, I did tell you! I told you last week that the whole R&D department's broke! I swear I did! Well, I don't think I worded it as a "funding shortage" exactly, that makes it sound a lot less catastrophic than it actually is. Hang on, let me check the exact words… checking the old notebook here… Ah, there! It was in last week's meeting, like I said! I wrote it here as: "R&D has no money and hasn't had a realistic budget in years". That's what I said, that's what I told you last week, remember?"

Cave gave a menacing look.

"I don't care how you worded it, boy. You're supposed to be telling me everything that's going on around here - you're my eyes and ears! You didn't even tell me about their faulty equipment!"

"Ah, well now, that not really a Finance issue is it? Nothing at all to do with Finance and that's why I didn't mention it, ordering new equipment's all done by Procurement! …Or maybe Maintenance deals with faulty equipment… might even be the lab manager… Alright, I don't know exactly which department deals with it, but I can say with absolute 100% certainty it is not Finance, I can guarantee you that! Definitely not a financial matter and therefore not a matter for a Financial Adviser such as myself to be dealing with!"

He beamed at his logic. Cave did not agree.

"I don't have time for your bureaucratic nit-picking, boy. This mess is your fault and if the Intelligence Extraction Project is set back even one day thanks to your negligence then so help me-"

As much as Chell enjoyed watching Wheatley's misfortunes, this was so unfair that it was just uncomfortable to watch. She hadn't appreciated how truly deranged Cave Johnson had become in his twilight years; the recorded messages from Cave she had heard on her previous visit seemed almost pleasant compared this brutal rant against Wheatley. Turning away in disgust, Chell fast forwarded through the rest of the meeting and stopped at the familiar view of the dorm room.

[19:33 – Nov 21 1985]

On pressing play, Chell noticed a strange crackling sound emanating from the speakers, and leaned in with a confused grimace as she tried to identify it. Perhaps the microphone in the room was starting to malfunction over the years? She reached over to adjust the volume.

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP WITH THAT DAMN CROAKING NOISE ALREADY!" roared Rick, craning his head over the edge of his bunk to shoot a dirty look up at his roommate. "You're giving me a headache! What's your problem anyway?"

Wheatley removed the pillow from his face and rolled onto his side.

"What do you think my problem is?" he snapped grumpily, "It's Cave! It's always Cave! All he ever does is shout at me and- and blame me for stuff, it's doing my head in! You know what he blamed me for today? Hot dogs! Or the _lack_ of hot dogs anyway, he said I was supposed to have advised him the canteen had run out of hot dogs early. That's not Finance! That's not anything, it's just lunch!"

He groaned in exasperation.

"You know what I feel like? It's like… there was this show I saw one time on the telly when I was little, it was some kind of documentary about a priest man in Peru… or Uganda… I'm sure it had a "u" in it. Anyway, the priest man was all dressed up in bones and skins, and he had this little furry guinea pig with him, right? Well, there was this local bloke who came to him complaining about bad luck and asked for the priest's help. So the priest got the guinea pig and held it up to the man's chest and ran it over his body, all over his arms and legs like it was some kind of sponge. He said it was absorbing all the bad luck from the man, right? Well, then he let the guinea pig go, just let it run off into the forest and it took all the bad luck with it. My point is: I'm the guinea pig! That's what I am! And Cave's the crazy priest with the bones, he's blaming me for everything and making me absorb all the bad luck in Aperture!"

Wheatley gave another frustrated moan and tossed the pillow back onto his scowling face. On the bunk below Rick just looked confused.

"Buddy, I think the word you're looking for is "scapegoat". When you say "guinea pig" it kinda implies that Cave's experimenting on you. I mean, the guy pulls a lot of crap on his employees but he hasn't tried that one yet!" said Rick with a laugh.

"…Fine, I'm Cave's "escape goat", it doesn't really matter what it's called. All I mean is he's not keeping me around for my financial expertise, if you know what I'm saying," he moaned.

There was suddenly a conspiratorial edge to Wheatley's voice.

"And Rick, I wouldn't laugh at the idea of Cave making employees into test subjects, didn't you hear about the people who've been disappearing at night?"

Rick laughed again at Wheatley's serious tone.

"Yeah, sure! Name one person who's disappeared."

"Well, there was that guy, you know, the guy from Sales!" insisted Wheatley.

"What guy from Sales?"

"Well, I don't know his _name _exactly, but I heard it from one of the Junior Accountants and he's got a mate over in Sales!" said Wheatley, as if this settled the matter.

"Aww, come on man! You've gotta stop believing everything you hear, it's like that thing with the Mantis-men all over again!"

"It's true, I'm sure it is! And I don't know why you're laughing, there really are Mantis-men in the basement…"

Rick shook his head in disbelief with a smirk on his lips.

"Sure, whatever you say. You've gotta be the most paranoid person I've ever met."

The smirk left his face and was replaced by concern.

"But seriously, buddy, if Cave's really making you miserable then why don't you just quit? Just walk out the door and show Cave who's the boss."

His face suddenly lit up.

"Oh, if you're leaving you're gonna need a cool exit line! Let's see, it's gotta be a good one… how about, "hey Cave, you want my advice? You're an asshole!"

Wheatley looked horrified.

"I-I can't say that, mate! I don't even want to leave Aperture! It's all I've wanted to do ever since I was little. I don't care how bad it gets, I left everything behind so that I could work here and I won't leave now!"

A sad look appeared in his eyes.

"I can't leave anyway, even if I wanted to. It might be cold and underground and filled with crap food and evil bosses, but it's my home and I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Surely you must have _somewhere_ you can crash for a while? I get that you're not on great terms with your family, but don't you have any friends outside Aperture? Someone who could take you in, maybe get you a job?"

Wheatley shook his head.

"I've only ever had one friend outside of Aperture, my old teacher Mr Doblevski, but I haven't seen him in years. I really miss him though, he was so nice to me and he was one of those people who just seemed to know everything about everything, you know? He was the one who taught me how to be an accountant, and he did everything he could to make sure I got into Aperture. We tried to keep in touch for a while and I used to visit him sometimes when I first arrived here. But I had to stop when, you know, they introduced those forms you had to fill in to leave the facility."

"Yeah, if I had a nickel for the number of hiking trips I've had ruined by those stupid forms. It's all "duration of leave" and "reason of leave", as if just wanting to go outside isn't a valid enough reason! And having to get escorted up to the surface like a little kid, and having them wait on you coming back, tapping their watch. It sucks man."

"I know, it does… suck. I really missed Mr Doblevski and I wanted to visit him in Maple Hill, but they wanted me to write all his contact details down on the form and… I don't know, I just didn't want to do that to him. So I had to stop visiting, and then they cut off personal phone calls to outside the facility too so we lost all contact. I can't just turn up on his doorstep, I mean, it would be like "Hello! Haven't seen you in ten years! Can I sleep on your sofa?" I don't want to do that to him."

Chell shook her head softly at Wheatley's remark. He was wrong, Dean Doblevski would have gladly taken him in. He had taken her in, hadn't he? She didn't even belong in Maple Hill, not like Wheatley did.

"Alright, I get it. If you don't want to leave you could at least take a different job in Aperture, something a bit further away from Cave. How about you ask for your old job back in Accounting?"

"It's alright Rick, don't worry about it. I'll just stick it out, I was having a bit of a moan there but it's not _that_ bad really. I'm sure Cave has reached maximum crazy already, he can't possibly get any worse."

Rick didn't appear convinced.

"What about you, Rick? Do you have any ambitions outside of Aperture?"

Rick took the bait and completely abandoned his interrogation.

"I definitely want to leave Aperture, even if you don't. I can't stand being stuck underground like this, I want to get out and see the world! You know that movie Indiana Jones we watched a few months ago? I want to be like that guy! Travelling the world, exploring where no-one's been in thousands of years, picking up hot women, fighting bad guys… That's the life for me! I'm sick of Weapons Development, some of the stuff we're making down there makes me feel like some kind of supervillain. I should be out there fighting the bad guys, not stuck down here in a lab making weapons for them! One of these days, man, one of these days I'll be out of here for good."

_[17:36 – Jan 11 1986]_

The screen turned to a view that Chell had not yet seen: a long narrow corridor lined with countless doors stretching off into the distance. In the middle of this corridor stood Wheatley, his hand poised indecisively at one of the many doors. He briefly glanced back at the door behind him, before he screwed up his courage and knocked briskly. After a brief pause the door was opened by a man just out of sight, and Chell could only see one tattooed arm leaning on the door frame.

"Oh, hello! Keith, I was wondering if you've seen Rick at all today? I've just come back from work and went into our room and, well, Rick's not there. I mean, he's not there _at all_. All of his stuff's gone from our room and- and the bed's been stripped and all the linen's folded on top the bed - it's so neat and tidy it's like he was never there at all. There's no note from him and he didn't say anything to me this morning about leaving so I'm just a little worried. Quite a lot worried actually, I'm really properly scared – what if something's happened to him? Did he say anything to you?"

Wheatley gazed helplessly at the man opposite.

"Well, alright… Just- just let me know if you hear anything, ok?"

The worry was plain to see on his face as the door slowly closed behind him.

**The next chapter might take a little longer to come out than before, I'm sorry. I was trying my best to have a weekly release, because I know that's what I prefer when I'm reading fanfictions, but things have been so busy lately that I've got a bit behind with the chapters. I'll try and get it out as soon as I can!**


End file.
